Inevitable
by loveadubdub
Summary: She's fishing for an apology.  She won't get one.  You never apologize to a girl after the fact.  You might apologize before something terrible happens if you're trying to get something in return.  But, of course, Rachel Berry is giving nothing away.


**INEVITABLE**

… … …

He's never liked Ohio weather.

It's too hot in the summer, too cold in the winter, and too rainy all the times in between. He's spent his entire life in that state, and it's something he's never grown used to or appreciated. Los Angeles is the opposite. Los Angeles doesn't even _have _weather. He's been there for four months and has seen it rain _maybe _five times. It's December, and the temperature is a freezing sixty-eight degrees. The sun is shining brightly outside LAX as he pulls his suitcase from the trunk of the taxi and pays the driver. Looking around, he can easily spot the natives and the tourists- the former are bundled up for this chilly December day, scarves and sweaters (and sunglasses, of course). The tourists are sporting shorts, t-shirts, and flip flops (and sunglasses, of course).

He straightens his own scarf and heads into the airport. He might be a fairly new transplant, but LA is an easy city to figure out.

Getting on the plane in California and off the plane in Ohio is somewhat of a letdown. While he's never been too attached to his home state, he finds himself resenting it a little bit as he makes his way through the terminal. The Cleveland airport is far more boring and basic than LAX, and the mediocrity of it sort of pisses him off. He tries not to be too judgmental of the people he passes on the way to the baggage area, but it's difficult when so many of them insist on looking like the Sears catalogue come to life.

His parents are waiting for him by the baggage claim. They're easy to spot because they're _not _currently epitomizing white trash and poorness. Of course, his parents _aren't _poor (thank god), so they've already got a leg up on the competition. They're happy to see him, hugging him and asking about his flight and going on and on about how tan he is. He hasn't seen them all semester, having stayed in Los Angeles for Thanksgiving to work on a group project (and also his tan). He's only got one bag, but they have to wait for what seems like hours for it to appear on the conveyor belt. His dad grabs it as his mom grabs him, and they walk to the car together still catching up on four months worth of news as if they haven't spoken on the phone daily.

Stepping out of the building is a shock. It's _freezing. _It has to be thirty degrees and overcast. It's ridiculous. He hooks his sunglasses over the pocket of his jeans. He has a feeling he won't be needing them.

It pisses him off. He really loves those sunglasses.

It takes just under an hour to get to Akron. The traffic isn't terrible, and his father manages to _not _endanger their lives through a fit of road rage, so that's always a plus. He listens to some more mindless gossip about what the neighbors are getting up to and who's having an affair with whom, but he blocks most of it out, wondering how he's going to make through the next two weeks without killing himself. He hasn't really thought about how much he hates this place and how glad he is to be away from it. LA has a way of keeping his mind off of other things for the most part, but now that he's back, he remembers exactly why Ohio sucks so much.

Home feels completely different from the way he left it. He feels like a guest, like an outsider almost. His parents don't do anything in particular to make him feel that way, but he never imagined coming home would feel like this. He doesn't feel like he belongs here anymore. His room feels like someone else's.

Perhaps it's him who is someone else.

It's a dramatic statement, of course, but he prides himself on nothing less. Drama, after all, is what keeps life interesting. Without drama, life is mindless and boring. He lives for drama. That's something that has _not _changed. It never will. But he _is _different now. Maybe at his core, he's still the same person he was in August, but he's also a different person. He's a person who has left home and returned for the first time. He's a person who has just finished his first semester of college and gotten the very first B of his lifetime. He's a person who now owns a fake ID and has spent countless weekends in bars he's too young to be in and at band shows he's too young to attend. He's slept with five girls, he's skipped more classes than he can count, and he's paid a kid on his floor to write an English paper on a book he didn't read.

He doesn't feel quite as perfect as he did the last time he was here.

Or maybe he was never that perfect to begin with.

He meets up with his friends while he's home, and it's weird because now that they're all in college with tons of new stories to share and haven't seen each other in months, they don't really have a lot to talk about. He hears stories of OSU, of Brown, of Butler, of NYU… He doesn't really care about any of them. UCLA is far more interesting, and it pleases him to know that his life is better than everyone else's. That's something he's always enjoyed.

He goes to a few parties but hardly drinks anything. Drinking with his high school friends feels different from drinking with his college friends. And while these are the people who ideally know him best, he no longer feels like they're very much fun to party with. Mostly he secludes himself, laughing humorlessly at random jokes, and amusing himself by seeing which of the girls are already getting fat. He has to run clearance with the girls, too, because he no longer has any desire to hook up with Andrea Cohen or any of the other girls he used to call his favorites. It's not that he no longer _likes _his friends. It's just weird, and he doesn't know why.

He gets roped into going to Sectionals, of course, and if he'd waited just four more days before coming home, he could have avoided it altogether. Stupid dorms that close for the holidays. Some of this year's seniors tell them that they're better than ever, and, of course, he and all the others who have already graduated just laugh and roll their eyes because there's no _way _Vocal Adrenaline is better than ever. He's surprised they've managed to stay afloat at all given all the man power they lost with last year's graduating class (_him), _but he hears it, _"New blood, new coach. We're so awesome."_

So he goes.

He sits with a few of his friends, and they do their duty of making fun of the other schools who are all just terrible and hopeless. He hasn't even _seen _Vocal Adrenaline yet, and he already knows they'll win without trying. The other teams are just that bad. There are six schools, and the competition seems to drag on forever. He never remembers it taking this long when he was backstage in the dressing room with his team warming up. Sitting in the audience, though, is basically torture, and after the third school screeches their way through a Beatles medley, he has to take a break. He's surprised that no one runs after to bug him, but everyone looks so bored that they're basically falling asleep.

He's in the hallway by the snack bar when he sees _her._

Rachel Berry is standing there looking every bit as _Rachel Berry _as she ever has in a dress that's too short and maroon tights that make her legs look longer than they really are. She's got her back turned half-toward him as she yammers away on her cell phone, speaking in what appears to be literally a mile-a-minute manner. He can't hear what she's saying, but she doesn't look entirely pleased. He wonders if she's here alone.

He does the gentlemanly thing of waiting until she hangs up before he goes over to approach her. He isn't sure why he does it, and he's pretty sure he should feel more anxious than he does. He doesn't feel anything really, except maybe amusement at the fact that she's clearly here spying on the competition and pulling it off in anything but an inconspicuous manner.

"Enjoying the show?"

She jumps a little bit as she spins around to stare at him. She doesn't look happy to see him, but she's obviously flustered. At least momentarily. It only takes a second, though, before she's tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Jesse," she says curtly, as though she's extending him some huge favor by being cordial.

"See anything you like?" He raises his eyebrows, and her own eyes narrow. "I wouldn't bother stealing any of _that," _he swings his head toward the auditorium where there's more terrible music wafting. "It's crap."

"I'm not here to _steal _anything," she tells him pointedly. "We don't _need _to steal anything."

"So what're you doing here?"

"Supporting the other teams." She lifts her chin and speaks almost like she believes the bullshit she's spewing. "It's good karma."

"Is spying good karma, too?"

"I'm not _spying!" _She obviously hears her voice get louder because she glances around quickly and then glares at him.

"So then I'll just assume you came to see me." It's so _easy _to goad her. Almost _too _easy.

Rachel looks outraged and literally _scoffs _at him, and if he didn't enjoy a good dramatic performance, he might laugh. "_Please," _she says disgustedly like it's the most preposterous thing she's ever heard. "How would I even know you'd be here?"

"Lucky guess?"

She's so angry that it's almost hilarious. "Well, I _imagined," _she says haughtily, "that once you got out of here, you'd _stay _out. I would."

"And you'd be smart."

"So why are you here?"

"I need my parents to keep giving me money," he says honestly. There's no point in lying about it. "They wouldn't be too pleased if I skipped Christmas."

Rachel doesn't judge him for this, and he knows it's because she and he are too much alike on too many levels. She's a spoiled only child, too, and she knows how important keeping the parentals happy is when it comes to getting what you want. It's just one of the _many _things they have in common.

"Are you here alone?" he asks, glancing around to see if there are any other familiar faces within the vicinity. Really, he's just protecting his own face. He didn't exactly leave New Directions on a high note, and he's sure that there are more than a couple of fists still waiting for him.

Rachel pulls herself up to her full height when she answers, and it's pretty adorable considering her full height is about half an inch taller than a kindergartner. "Yes," she says brazenly. "My _boyfriend _had basketball practice, so I came here alone."

She accents the word 'boyfriend' as if she's trying to make him jealous. It doesn't work. Mostly because it doesn't surprise him. Not in the least. He chooses to ignore it completely because he knows that will piss her off more than anything.

"Well, I hear we're pretty kickass this year." He uses the term 'we're' to show her that while she might have her _boyfriend, _he still has his true allegiance. "There's a new star." He smirks when he sees her face twitch, and he immediately knows the rumors are true. "I guess you already knew that."

Rachel shrugs as if she doesn't give two shits, and it's actually hilarious. She can't even find anything to say, which is even funnier.

"Did you really send that poor little girl to a crack house, Rachel?"

She stares at him, her eyes hard and her face so blank that the truth is completely obvious. And he can't help it, he busts out laughing because the whole thing is just too fantastic to be real. He'd been extremely amused when he heard about it months ago, but seeing Rachel react to it might just be the best thing ever. He suddenly doesn't regret coming home so much.

"That's great," he says seriously, and he's honestly not lying. "For real, that's hilarious!"

Her eyes soften a little bit, but her face stays cold. "You're the only one who thinks so."

But he shakes his head. "No, pretty much everyone in Vocal Adrenaline thinks it's hilarious, too. Of course, they didn't tell _her _that, but you know, that's to be expected."

"And what _did _they tell her?" Rachel's arms cross defensively over her chest, and her dress rides just slightly higher up her thighs.

"That McKinley sucks and that you're fucking crazy." She glares at him, and he just laughs again. "They _had _to say it, Rachel. Really, they all think it's pretty awesome."

"Oh, well, I'm glad I can amuse them," she snaps hatefully, and she turns around to walk off, and he almost lets her if for no other reason than to check out her ass.

He can't do it, though, and he calls out to stop her. "Wait." She does, and she turns around to look at him with raised eyebrows and an unamused expression. "You want to hang out sometime?"

He knows he's going to get shot down. He knows it before he even forms the question. It still doesn't stop him asking because he wants to see her expression when he does. It doesn't let him down. She's outraged, and she looks at him as if he possibly has three heads or crooked teeth.

"I would rather crack an egg on my _own _head," she says slowly, "than spend another _minute _with you."

She's fishing for an apology, but she won't get one.

When she realizes this, she can't help adding. "And anyway, I doubt my _boyfriend _would appreciate that too much."

He just nods. "Right. Your boyfriend. Tell Finn I said you're welcome."

And then it's his turn to do the dramatic storm out. His isn't so much a storm out, though, as a simple sarcastic smile and a spin of the feet as he heads back into the auditorium to his friends. He knows she's standing there in shock, possibly with her mouth gaping open, and he's one-hundred percent positive she hates him even more than before. He doesn't really care, though. He isn't even totally sure why he's being such a dick. It's just funny. And maybe he still cares just a little. Whatever.

Vocal Adrenaline is awful. Nowhere near as terrible as the other schools, but they still suck. The new 'star' would have done better if she'd stayed at the crack house. Or at McKinley. There's hardly a difference.

He tells them all that they were _stunning._

When he gets drunk at Lydia Ming's pre-pre-Christmas Eve party, it's Rachel's number he calls. She answers, which is not surprising at all. People always answer when you drunk dial them. It's because it's usually the middle of the night, and they're asleep and too incoherent to know better.

"What're you doing?" he asks, smiling to himself when he hears her groggy voice pick up.

"Who is this?" She sounds much more coherent when she asks the question like she's actually deleted his number or something. Or maybe she has (girls do that shit when they're really pissed off), but she definitely has it memorized. And there's no way she doesn't recognize his voice.

"Wanna go to a party?" He's not sure if his words are slurring. He doesn't think they are, but he's had a few (nine) beers, so he's not completely positive.

"Leave me alone." Her voice is sharp and clear now, and he imagines her sitting up and flipping on the lamp beside her bed. "If you don't, I will call the police."

He snorts. He's definitely drunk. "And tell them what? That your _phone _rang?"

"That you're harassing me!"

He slides down the wall and sits on a stair. The party is winding down and getting quieter, and he realizes he doesn't know what time it is. So he asks. "What time is it?"

"Time for you to _leave me alone." _

"Rachel," he says calmly. "Stop being rude. It's unbecoming.'

She literally growls in frustration, and he loves it. He still has no idea why he's pushing so hard, but he's never been a very nice person. That's something that has not only not _changed _since college- it's possibly gotten worse. And Rachel's just so _easy. _

"You are a _jackass," _she finally spits out, and he can tell she's trying to keep her voice down so that she doesn't wake her fathers. He used to talk to her in the middle of the night all the time, and she always used that level of voice. Of course, back then her tone was _much _different. It's a fun change to go from sweet talking to her to antagonizing her.

"Rachel, I'm just trying to be polite and invite you out to a party. I don't know why you're getting so upset." He bites back his smile, careful not to let it become evident in his voice. He knows she doesn't buy it, but it's still fun to pretend. Also, acting experience, of course.

"_Jesse," _she says back just as slowly and calmly. "_Go away."_

"I'm all the way in Akron. I miss you."

This time he doesn't bite back his smile. It's too funny. And it's not entirely a lie. He does miss her on some level. Maybe on a lot of levels. She is, after all, his soul mate.

She hangs up on him then, and he's not surprised. He laughs to himself as he drops his phone into his pocket and lets his head fall back against the wall. He wakes up three hours later in the same stairwell with one of the junior girls lying across his lap. He leaves her with his jacket because she looks cold, and he's not a _total _jackass.

Even if some people think otherwise.

The third time he comes into contact with her, it's legitimately an accident. A happy accident. Serendipity.

It's Christmas, and he's spending the day with his family at his uncle's house just like always. It's a tradition they've upheld for as far back as he can remember. It's just him and his parents and his uncle. There really isn't much other family to speak of, certainly none that they associate with on a normal basis. He doesn't care much, considering the fact that the few times he _has _spent with other members of his family have both nearly bored him to death and made him consider suicide. Either way, the end result involves dying, and as he hasn't yet seen his name beside the words "Oscar-winning," he isn't ready to go that route yet.

His mother sends him for more wine once she realizes there's not going to be enough to get them through the day. She knows about his ID. She trusts him more than she should. It's nice. He loves his mom. What he doesn't love is Lima, and it annoys him even more when he drives to the grocery store and finds it closed. It takes driving by three more stores before he finally finds one with cars in the parking lot and lights on in the building. He's pissed off by that point because this is taking way too long, but then he sees a familiar car and the back of a familiar head.

He knocks on the window, and Rachel once again jumps, shocked (and possibly scared) as she bolts straight up, immediately jerking her head up from the steering wheel. When she gets her breath, she glares at him and then slams open the door. He jumps out of the way just in time because he's pretty sure she's purposely trying to hit him.

"Are you _stalking _me?" she asks furiously, and he's almost seriously amused at how angry she is. He wonders what's got her so worked up.

"No," he says slowly. "Just checking to make sure you weren't dead, that's all."

"Obviously I'm not _dead," _she hisses. "What the hell are you doing here?"

She has sworn at him twice in the past week. He finds it highly amusing and also slightly hot. He's not sure why.

"Well," he says slowly, "I saw your car and saw you hunched over the steering wheel… I didn't see any bullet holes, but one can never be too sure…"

"I mean what are you doing _here!" _she very nearly shouts, getting all the way out of the car and glaring at him. "At this store! In this _town!"_

"My uncle lives here," he reminds her. "You might remember his basement. I think you lost a shirt down there once." She glares at him even more, and he loves it. He found that shirt, by the way, and he never told her. "It's Christmas," he goes on. "Family time. Yada, yada, yada, my mom needs more wine."

"And at eighteen, you're able to fix this problem?"

He just shrugs, and she rolls her eyes, no doubt lecturing him inside her head. "What are _you _doing here?" he asks, turning the table.

"My car won't start," she mutters.

"Did you try to jump it? I can tr-"

"My dad already called AAA," she breaks in, refusing to even let him finish his offer to assist her. "So no thank you."

He's glad honestly. He has no idea how to jump a car. He'd probably blow something up and kill them both in the process. Her need for independence is inadvertently saving a small piece of his manhood. Plus, dirty hands… Not a good look for him.

"Is he coming to get you?" he asks instead. "Your dad?"

"They're at my grandparents."

"And your boyfriend?" He raises his eyebrows and expects her to say something snappy.

Instead she just mumbles, "He's at _his _grandparents."

"Well, get in my car," he tells her. "At least it's warm."

"No," she says firmly. "I'm fine."

"Rachel, it's f_reezing." _He rolls his eyes. He's not even trying to play a game right now. "Besides, you shouldn't be alone. It's Christmas."

"I'm Jewish."

He smiles at her, and she looks away, too stubborn to smile back but obviously at least a _tiny _bit entertained.

"Come on," he says again, and this time she doesn't argue. She actually follows him and yanks open the door to his passenger side before he can be chivalrous and do it for her. He slides into the driver's seat, kicks the ignition on, and turns the heat up.

There are a few minutes of heavy silence. Rachel stares at the window and refuses to acknowledge him. He watches her ignore him and tries to remember the way her hair feels against his cheek. Finally, when it's so quiet that it's actually d_eafening, _he breaks the silence.

"So… How are things?"

"Things are fine," she answers shortly, still not looking at him.

"And you and Finn? How's that?"

"Finn is perfect," she answers without hesitating. He can tell she really wants to look over at him, but she's too proud. "It's just perfect."

He nods, knowing she can see out of the corner of her eye. "Yes, I'm sure it is."

Her head turns sharply then, and she narrows her eyes. He knew that would get a reaction, and he's pleased. "What is _that _supposed to mean?"

He just lifts his shoulders innocently. "I'm sure it's perfect," he repeats. "For now."

"Not just for _now. _For_ever."_

He doesn't laugh at her ridiculous notion of forever. He doesn't tell her that there's no such thing, and that she's too idealistic and naive to realize as much. He just nods slowly and then shakes his head a little. He knows she's confused, which is exactly what he's going for.

"Finn will fall in love with you."

"He _already _loves me." He can tell by how adamant she's being that she believes this statement to be one-hundred percent truth and that she is currently basing her entire life around this fact. Of course, that's the entire problem.

"You shouldn't let people fall in love with you, Rachel."

She stares at him and says nothing for a moment. He wonders if she's still confused or if now she's more worried than anything. Her face is unreadable, which he has to commend. An unreadable face is the most basic necessity of all budding stars.

He knows she's not going to come out and ask him to clarify his statement, so he helps her out. "The people who are in love with you are the ones who will hold you back."

The odd silence is back, but this time it feels strangely thin instead of thick and heavy. Rachel continues to stare at him, and he can tell that she's running his statement over and over in her head. She's trying to make sense of it and refute it at the same time. He isn't surprised. He is, however, pleased.

"Finn would never try to hold me back," she says finally, and she's clearly convincing herself as much as she's trying to convince him.

"Of course he wouldn't _try," _Jesse says simply. "He loves you. But it's inevitable."

Her eyes flash at his choice of adjective. He knows it's because it's the second time he's described something as inevitable to her. They're soul mates- they mark the same moments as important and store them away. He wasn't lying then, and he's not lying now. He doesn't lie about inevitabilities.

"When you're on your way to New York, and he's on his way to Lima Community College… You'll feel guilty. If he doesn't hold you back, you'll hold yourself back."

The unreadable face is gone, and it's replaced with a worried one. He can tell she has thought about this before and that it's something she's already concerned about. He doesn't know whether to feel victorious or guilty about this fact.

"I'll tell you a secret, Rachel."

"I don't want to hear it." Her voice wavers a little, and he plays along.

"Okay."

And he nods, and that's it. There's silence for exactly thirty-nine seconds before she gives in. "Fine, _what?"_

He tries not to smirk too obviously. He lowers his voice to just little more than a whisper and tells her another undeniable fact. "You're better than him, Rachel. You're better than all of them."

"Leave me alone, Jesse." Her voice is very tiny suddenly, and she's falling back on an old defense that's about as useless as the majority of her teammates.

He doesn't obey her, of course, because he doesn't take orders from anyone. He's the one directing this show, and he'll be the one collecting the awards at the end.

"You're better than all of this. You can actually _make it, _Rachel." He's totally serious, and it's evident in his voice. "As long as you don't let stupid things stand in your way."

"Are you ever going to apologize to me?" she asks out of nowhere, turning her head fully to stare at him directly in the eye. He wants to flinch under her stare, but he's got more balls than that.

Instead, he just stares right back.

You never apologize to a girl after the fact. Maybe you throw in an apology _before _something awful happens if you're trying to get something out of it. But Rachel's giving nothing away, of course, and what happened might as well be ancient history. Months have passed since then. He's moved to a different state since then. She's fallen in love since then.

"You already know why," he answers simply. "What would an apology do?"

He's testing her. He isn't completely positive that she _does _know why it happened. He thinks she probably does- soul mates and all.

She does.

"So I was just a stupid thing standing in your way?"

He hates that she sounds hurt because he wants her to be stronger than that. He wants her to not give a shit and to cuss him out and tell him to go fuck himself. He doesn't want her to be hurt.

"Sometimes supporting roles have to be cut for plot and time," he tells her simply, putting his explanation into terms she will easily understand. It's the closest to an apology that he will get.

"You're horrible," she tells him, and he thinks maybe she's going to skip the hurt part and skip right to the strong and angry part. "What kind of a person treats another person like that just so he can win a _singing competition?"_

"The same kind who sends a fifteen year old girl to a crack house so she won't steal her solos."

Touche.

He sees it in her eyes. He's backed her into a corner, and she knows it. He's just proven the point he's been trying to make to himself all along. They're more than just soul mates. They're the same person. He thinks she knows it, too.

"That was your fault," she says, her voice breaking into his thoughts a second later.

"What was my fault?"

"That I did that to Sunshine." Her eyes are huge, and he can't help but stare and remember how they look even prettier right up close. "I can't trust people with talent now."

"Thank you, Rachel."

"It wasn't a compliment."

She's hilarious. She's also delusional and clearly making things up off the top of her head. He intends to call her on it. "So you're calling the rest of your team talentless?"

She scowls at him. "_Outsiders _with talent."

She spews the word 'outsiders' as though that's supposed to be some sort of insult. As if he's supposed to be upset that he was never welcomed into New Directions with open arms and hugs. Like he'd want to be. They fucking suck. And they all hate each other anyway.

"Ouch," he says simply, and she looks away.

A few raindrops hit the windshield, and he silently curses Ohio weather for what seems like the thousandth time in just a few days. It's probably sixty-five degrees and sunny in LA right now.

"She wouldn't have stolen your solos," he says out of nowhere as his eyes follow two raindrops sliding across the windshield and then connecting to become one. "You're much better than she is."

They don't look at each other, but in his head, she smiles a little at his words. He's not trying to compliment her. It's just a fact. There are several long moments of wordlessness as he watches the rain on the windshield and she stares out of her own window. When she finally speaks, he barely hears her.

"I don't hate you."

"I know," he answers just as quietly. He never thought she did.

He wants to look at her, but he doesn't trust his eyes. He misses his sunglasses terribly, but the sudden heavy pattering of rain over their heads reminds him that they're useless here. Stupid weather.

"When you get out of here, don't ever come back."

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the slightest of head nods. Then the AAA truck pulls into the parking lot, and Rachel gets out of his car, pulling her jacket over her head and explaining her problem to the driver who steps out of his truck and pops her hood. Jesse watches from the dryness and warmth of his own car, knowing there's no point in him sticking around any longer. He hasn't got the wine, but he's not getting out in this now. So he puts his car in drive and pulls out of his spot, slowing to a stop right in front of Rachel's car. She turns her head and squints at him through the rain. He reaches into the floorboard of his backseat, grabs an umbrella, and holds it out the window to her. She stares at it for a second, and then she takes it.

They don't exchange a single word before he drives away.

She's just received her apology.

He's just cemented another inevitability.

… …. …

A/N: Oh, Jesse, Jesse, Jesse… Please hurry back, dear!


End file.
